


The Magic Flute

by orphan_account



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Freeform, M/M, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Self-indulgent and noncanon. A short story on how past Mozart and Antonio may have interacted with one another before their lives as Heroic Spirits.
Relationships: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart | Caster/Antonio Salieri | Avenger
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	The Magic Flute

When Antonio Salieri entered the room, he was hardly shocked by what he saw.

It was poorly lit- heavy curtains firmly covering every inch of sunlight from entering the room. From the little light that came from the hall, Antonio could tell the floor was a mess of paper and clothing. A heavy musk of rosin and dust collected in the air and he wondered if Mozart even knew what circulation meant.

Ignoring the crunch under his feet, Antonio calmly walked past the bed and parted the curtains, ignoring a complaintive hiss behind him as light flooded the refined room.

For all the trouble Mozart went through to get such gaudy furniture, he certainly didn’t spend much time on seeing it. Antonio rest his arm on a polished eagle head statuette carved into the bedframe and watched as the other musician rolled around in his sheets, covering his pale face with his frilled sleeves.

“Mozart, it’s already evening. Don’t tell me you plan on staying in bed all day.” Antonio sighed, shaking his head disappointedly. “To think the star of Italy would be such a slovenly creature.”

“Hey! I deserve this!” Mozart cried, kicking lazily under his sheets. “The star of Italy can do whatever he pleases!”

“Including postponing today’s opera?” Antonio retorted dryly.

He couldn’t resist grinning as the younger man’s expression went sober immediately, drawing himself up like a fire had been lit on his behind.

“Ah-! _Minchia(Fuck)!”_ Mozart spat between tossing his sheets, then groping his hair.

Antonio handed him a comb from his table. There was something ridiculous about the way Mozart liked to style his hair- curls at the sides and each strand meticulously tucked behind his ears. As someone who settled for a messier, but simplistic regime, Antonio could only imagine what was going on behind that pompous head of his.

“Get yourself a wife, Mozart,” Antonio said while resting a cheek on his palm, watching as the other scrambled through his dresser for matching socks. “You know I can’t keep doing this for you.”

To his surprise, Mozart shot him an impish grin, resembling a gremlin more than a child of God. “Even though I don’t recall ever asking you to?” He snickered, powdering his face.

“Ah, but if it’s about women, I’ve had plenty of them-“

“ _Sei un cretino (You’re a cretin)_ , Wolfgang,” Antonio groaned, earning a face-palm from the other. He’d heard enough of Mozart’s… deviancy from chatter alone and the idea of hearing first-hand was more than distasteful. “You should hear the way they gossip about you in the streets.”

Mozart waved him off, chortling. “Stars must twinkle every now and then~” He hummed as buttoned his coat and dusted his shoulders. His shoes were a vibrant blue and pointed like an elf while his sleeves were puffy from the frills sewn from inside. Whenever he moved, the golden lining of his coat caught in light and he appeared to shimmer like fireflies caught in water.

“Now, how do I look?” The blonde puffed his chest proudly and presented himself dramatically.

“Gaudy,” Antonio deadpanned. “Ridiculous. Absurd. It’s exactly fitting of you, Mozart.”

He bowed with grandeur, grinning with that impish look. “Why, thank you dear friend. I would return the compliment, but you look, well, dreary as always. Don’t worry, I’m sure someday you’ll get invited to a funeral.”

Antonio couldn’t help scoffing at that, a faint smile playing at his lips. “And I’m sure you’ll attract enough moths to- Bah! you’re going to be late! Get moving, you!” He pushed the other out of the room, ignoring the other’s giggling.

“Why are you so concerned? There’s still time- don’t tell me you’re actually looking forward to it?” Mozart teased, nearly stumbling over the steps.

Antonio rolled his eyes, waving a carriage over. While avoiding eye contact with the other, he amended a quiet admission. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want my tickets going to waste, now would I?”

At this Mozart dug his heels and whipped around, startling the older man as the carriage stopped before them.

“You mean it?!” He nearly shouted, a look of childish excitement on his face. “You’re actually watching?!”

Apparently, Mozart hadn’t noticed the coachman behind him, stifling a laugh. Antonio pushed the other’s face back playfully before addressing the driver. “Pardon this fool. To the Estate Theatres, please.”

They boarded the carriage and to Antonio’s surprise, Mozart’s disposition seemed to change immediately. He sat staring dead ahead while muttering- seemingly rehearsing- his songs as his fingers danced over his lap. So even a fool like Mozart can be serious about things like this, Antonio thought, turning his head to the window. A part of him was restless, anticipating what Mozart would prepare.

Breathless.

That was the only way Antonio could describe the way he felt, still standing over his seat while other patrons pushed their way through to the recession. Despite the chattering, in his ears was an echo of the soprano, the soft bass mixing with the tenor, and the applause that felt humble in comparison.

From the stage below, he could see the golden hair of none other than the genius composer collecting his sheets of music. When their eyes met, he could have sworn the other was grinning, showing his devilish charm in the empty theatre. A side of him nobody else had seen.

Unable to resist a playful sneer back, it was only then that Antonio left the venue.

To his surprise, the reception was more lavish than he expected. Sparkling cider stack into a beautiful crystalline pyramid while small cakes and fruits were displayed upon tables worth of platters. But the main attraction was yet to come, and the crowded commons was to attest to its glory- to meet the man himself, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Antonio managed to steal away to a corner. Knowing Mozart, he would probably be drunk and fully fed of ego by the night’s end. Antonio might as well reserve his patience and sanity until then, watching the other make a fool of himself amongst his fans.

A shrill of cries rang out from the crowd, and surely enough, a man full of sweat and frills emerged from the side. One look at his face was enough to tell he was drinking in their adoration, walking cockishly as he made his way to the drinks.

“Sir Mozart, how did you ever come up with such a beautiful opera?!”

“Have you thoughts on making another?”

“Sir, please take this gift of my admiration!”

“Please, please,” Mozart said surly, taking a sip of golden cider. “I’m only one man! Ask one question or get no answers. Can anybody get me some fruit?”

Antonio dug his face into his hands, wondering if Mozart had a shred of humility within him.

What made him even more dizzy was seeing a flock of people dispersing at his command.

“Sir Mozart, the play-“A fan began nervously. “Will you do another one?”

The crowd chimed in with enthused cries as Mozart took another sip and hummed to himself.

“Well, I suppose I could try again in the next summer…”

They cheered as if they’d been spared from an execution. Another pushed her way forward, breathless as she asked, “And apprentices- would you take any apprentices? My son would love to— “

“Ah, no.” Mozart cut in, receiving a plate of fruit from the crowd. “I’m not interested in teaching no-names- at least not on my own terms. Have your son-” Mozart waved his fork around, contemplating, “I don’t know, win some competitions? Then maybe I’ll consider it.”

By nightfall, the crowd was full, and all the drinks were emptied. Antonio nearly fell asleep when he noticed Mozart passed out on the floor, a blissful expression on his face. He groaned as he kneeled to pick the other up by his arm when dazzling emerald eyes blinked back at him.

“ _Oddio_ (Oh God)!” Antonio shouted, nearly dropping Mozart cold onto the floor. “I thought you were sleeping!”

“I hada dream,” Mozart whispered, pushing his face so closely to Antonio’s that the stench of alcohol burned. “You- no, we made an opera together- with Cavalieri- you remember her, the soprano? We made an opera in the stars and our audience was an odd creature— “

“Mozart, you’re drunk,” Antonio muttered, hoisting the other mid-sentence to his feet. “Besides, I already said the next time we collaborate is the day I _chop off_ my fingers.”

“Ah, Per la ricuperata salute di Ofelia,” Mozart sighed fondly, ignoring Antonio’s last words. “It was such a lovely piece…”

“No, it really wasn’t.” Antonio retorted silently, a slight sting in his voice.

Despite the hours they spent together composing and rehearsing, it failed to reach the acclaim they had expected. And in following his streak of success, Antonio could only feel like it was a mark on his honor.

But spending time with Mozart- playing out melodies and bickering over their piece’s synergy- he couldn’t deny that it was a little fun.

They turned a corner and he was surprised to see a carriage waiting patiently for them despite the night cold. The coachman wore a startling suit of gray, his face masked in the darkness, radiating a slight chill as the horses whinnied. Antonio swallowed nervously. “Greetings, Sir- can you drop us off at…”

He gave the man directions, who merely turned his head.

What a difficult character, Antonio thought, practically tossing a barely lucid Mozart into the back carriage before climbing on himself. Though his gut instinct shifted and he began to have second thoughts.

“See? This is why I like you…” Mozart mumbled contentedly, distracting him. Mozart turned around so that his legs rested on Antonio’s lap. “How could I ever ask my future wife to throw me into a carriage while I’m drunk? The poor woman wouldn’t even be able to carry me.”

Antonio chuckled at the thought of a woman struggling with Mozart’s body, passed out cold on the ground.

“Then maybe you should _avoid_ situations as such? Be a little more considerate? Liquor is not a necessity of life, Mozart.” Antonio suggested pointedly.

Mozart sighed and nestled his head deeper into the carriage seat. “I think you’d be best suited as a wife than a husband. All you ever do is nag, nag, nag,” He yawned, scratching his side like an ape. “If Aloysia hadn’t rejected me, I wonder what would have become of you?”

“Oh, shut up.” Antonio scoffed, grinning. “Definitely not any worse than you, that’s for certain.”

He watched as the other’s grin fade and breathing slow into a rhythmic snore. Mozart’s pointed shoes pricked at his side time to time, but Antionio didn’t move. What did it matter, he thought while watching the night sky, it was just for a few more minutes. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All was heavily based off of a few NND videos on Mozart and Salieri and their wiki pages. What stuck most to me was a line in Salieri's page: 
> 
> "In his last surviving letter from 14 October 1791, Mozart tells his wife that he picked up Salieri and Caterina Cavalieri in his carriage and drove them both to the opera; about Salieri's attendance at his opera The Magic Flute, speaking enthusiastically: "He heard and saw with all his attention, and from the overture to the last choir there was not a piece that didn't elicit a 'Bravo!' or 'Bello!' out of him [...]." -(Solomon, Maynard, Mozart: A Life, Harper Perennial (1996))
> 
> Pardon the poor Italian, I tried my hand at researching a few interjections but I'm not confident in their usage (although now that I think about it, perhaps it would have been better to use German...)


End file.
